


If You Don't Love Me, Pretend

by JustAWinchesterGirl



Series: Anything For Sam [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, The Major Character Death is not actually a permanent death it's nothing we didn't already know, idk what else to say, more angst than the first, slightly more smut than the last one, so don't get turned off by that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-29
Updated: 2016-02-29
Packaged: 2018-05-23 23:14:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6133444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JustAWinchesterGirl/pseuds/JustAWinchesterGirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during the year between the end of s7 and beginning of s8, and at the beginning of s8.<br/>When Dean goes to Purgatory, you and Sam work together in picking up the pieces of your broken lives. You're all but willing to believe he is dead, but when he unexpectedly turns up again, can Sam deal with what follows?<br/>Title inspired by the song A Drop in the Ocean by Ron Pope.<br/>Part 2/3 of Anything For Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seven Months

It had been six days since you defeated Dick Roman. Six days since Dean had disappeared. Six long days that you’d locked yourself away. Too in mourning to hunt, to eat, to talk. All you did these days was cry and sleep.

Sam was in just as bad of shape as you were, but he didn’t let you see it. He acted like he was moving on. It infuriated you. Why wasn’t he _looking_? Why didn’t he at least _try_? If Sam had been the one to disappear, Dean would’ve stopped at nothing to get him back. He would’ve gotten you up off of your ass and thrown you into the Impala, and told you to help or get lost.

You let out another few tears at the thought. You would yell at Sam but your voice didn’t work. You’d search for Dean but your body didn’t seem to listen to you when you told it to move. You’d do anything but lie here and cry, wrapped up in one of Dean’s AC/DC t-shirts that by some miracle still smelled like him, but you couldn’t. You just couldn’t and you needed Sam to help you. You **needed** Sam right now and he was off doing god-knows-what instead of looking for his brother. He was running. You were pretty sure he’d actually up and run if it weren’t for you.

You hear the door to the motel room that you and Sam are staying in open and close but you don’t bother to look up.

“Y/N,” you hear softly, “Y/N, I got food.”

‘You’ve been gone for two days,’ you want to say, ‘You’ve been gone and I need you, Sam,’ but your mouth won’t move.

“Y/N, you have to eat. You have to shower. You have to _move_ ,” he sighs, shaking your shoulder gently.

You roll over onto your back to look up at him and it takes all of your energy. Your eyes are red and puffy. Your hair is a mess. You probably smell but you can’t find it in you to even be embarrassed about it.

“Y/N,” he says gently, concern in his eyes.

“Dean…” you croak, tears welling up in your eyes again. It’s the first word you’ve said in days.

“I know, Y/N,” he pulls you to him and strokes your hair gently, “I miss him too.”

* * *

 

It’s been three months since you’d defeated Dick Roman. Three months since Dean disappeared. Three long months that you’d been trying, desperately trying to get through to Sam, but he just won’t listen.

“Why don’t you help?” you scream, “Why don’t you try? Your brother is missing! Or dead!” you choke on the last word, a sob bubbling up in your chest and wracking your whole body, “Don’t you care?” you whisper.

“Of course, I care, Y/N!” he yells at you, “But he’s gone! He’s gone, and there’s nothing we can do about it. I promised him I’d let him go. I have to let him go this time, Y/N.”

“You’re being selfish!” you scream.

“No, Y/N, selfish is bringing your brother back from the dead! I have been selfish, and it got a lot of people hurt! I can’t do that this time!”

“Sam, I need him!” you cry, sinking to your knees and curling up into a ball as you try to control your sobs, “I need… to get… him back!”

“You need to let him **go** ,” Sam says gently, coming to kneel beside you to hold you and kiss your head, “We need to let him go, Y/N.”

* * *

 

It’s been seven months. Seven months since the Leviathans. Seven months since Dean disappeared. Seven long months.

It feels like years.

You’ve managed to convince Sam that you’ve moved on. Sam won’t hunt. You got a little apartment together somewhere new. Somewhere completely void of Dean. Well, sort of, you’d kept his things in boxes in your room, but you still slept in his shirts every night. You got jobs. Normal, mundane jobs. Sam fixed things around a motel uptown, and you bar tended -casually.

Every once in a while you disappeared on your own to take care of close by cases without Sam. And still, you searched for Dean. You couldn’t give up, the way that Sam had. But no matter what you did, what you researched, who you talked to, where you went, you couldn’t find anything. You couldn’t find Dean.

You were tempted to summon a crossroads demon. Sorely, sorely tempted. But you didn’t. You knew it was a bad idea, and Dean wouldn’t have wanted you to. You didn’t even know if a demon could give you what you wanted. You didn’t know where Dean was. Was he alive? Out there somewhere, off the grid? Or did he die, and go to Heaven? Hell? Purgatory? Knowing you’d sent the Leviathans back where they came from, the third one seemed most likely, and the most terrifying since you knew absolutely nothing about it. You’d read the Bible through three times. You were still none the wiser. You weren’t getting anywhere. But you couldn’t- _would never_ \- give up.

“Again?” Sam asks in exasperation as he comes home from work to find you curled up reading the Bible.

You close the book in defeat, “I just-”

He holds up a hand, “Save it.”

You sigh and get up to go over to him and hug him hello, “How was work?” you ask, falling back into the mundane, ‘Let’s pretend we’re normal people’ act that you’d started since moving here.

“Long,” he sighs, opening the fridge, “We need to get groceries.”

“I’ll go,” you offer quickly, snagging the keys to the Impala from him. Any excuse to drive Dean’s car. Any excuse to feel close to him again. And, honestly, any excuse to get away from Sam.

Sam’s torch for you had not burned out since you’d gotten together with Dean. When Dean was here, he was respectful, he stayed out of the way, he was in pain. When Dean had disappeared he’d tried to keep his distance still, but you needed each other for comfort.

You hadn’t had sex with him or anything. But you often had nightmares and ended up crawling in next to Sam for comfort at night. You snuggled on the couch when you both had days off. You pressed chaste kisses to each other’s skin and lips. You held hands sometimes. It wasn’t exactly romantic, but it wasn’t exactly innocent either. It tied your stomach in knots to think about how guilty it made you feel. You were _Dean’s_. But Dean was gone, and there was no guarantee he was ever coming back. You shuddered to think it, but the reality was that you needed Sam, and Sam needed you, and you hoped that that was something that Dean- living or dead- would be able to understand.

You hop into the Impala and slam the door behind you, sighing when you start her up and hear the familiar roar of her engine. The last piece of Dean that you have. You turn up the stereo, one of Dean’s 8-tracks playing. You don’t hate Dean’s music, you actually love quite a lot of it (though you’d never admit it to him), but rock isn’t your absolute favorite. You don’t change it, though. You can’t imagine playing anything else in here. Sam played his iPod when he drove her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to play your music in Dean’s car. It was unnatural.

You take the long way to the grocery store. You take the longer way home again.

When you park, you don’t get out. You just sit there, breathing in the scent, feeling the seats beneath you, listening to Led Zeppelin, and a few tears escape your eyes as you imagine Dean behind the wheel, singing along and grinning at you with that breathtakingly beautiful smile of his while Sam tells him to shut up from the back seat. You almost laugh as you imagine Dean turning the stereo up in retaliation and belting the song out at the top of his lungs, “Come on, Sammy,” he’d say loudly over the music, “Y/N likes it!” He’d put his hand on your thigh and you’d smile, and sing along with him- half because you really do like this song, and half to annoy Sam.

A sob wracks your body and you fight back the tears, wiping your face as you turn the car off, take the keys out of the ignition, and gather up the groceries. You take a deep breath to gather yourself before you go back into the apartment to pretend that nothing ever happened.


	2. Pretend You Chose Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You're not allowing Sam to run anymore, but it's not only Dean's death that he's running from, and with Dean gone- you have to make a choice as to whether or not to give Sam what he wants... and of course, you'd do anything for Sam.

It had been ten months since Dean had disappeared and you hadn’t slept in your own bed for weeks.

You didn’t wear his shirts to bed anymore because it upset Sam. You didn’t talk about him anymore. You couldn’t remember the last time you said his name out loud.

“Y/N,” Sam breathes as he presses his lips against yours, kisses going from chaste, to hungry, to needy, to rough.

Your hands grip his biceps and you’re not sure if you’re trying to push him away or pull him closer. “Sam,” you say, and it’s meant to be a warning, but it comes out as a whine.

His hands are on your waist and he pulls you closer to him as his mouth reattaches itself to yours and you don’t push him away. Your hands slide up his arms, past his shoulders, into his hair, fingers tangling in his long locks and holding him close to you. You need him like air. But it feels **wrong**.

“No!” you gasp as you finally break away and you push free of his arms, and crawl quickly out of bed, stomping into the kitchen in anger, not looking at him.

“Y/N!” Sam protests, following you.

“I’m not doing this again, Sam!” you snap.

“Doing what?” he asks, frustrated.

“ _Cheating_ on Dean!” you yell, freezing as it comes out of your mouth, scared of his reaction.

“You didn’t cheat on Dean,” he mumbles quietly, not looking at you, “You weren’t with him when we slept together. And, Y/N, he’s-”

“Do not say it!” you growl.

“It’s been nearly a **year** , Y/N!” he sighs, getting angry, “When are you going to move on? When are you going to love me back?” He looks shocked and embarrassed as the words come out of his mouth, “I mean, no-,” he tries to backtrack, “You don’t have to- I didn’t mean- Just… you have to get over Dean.”

“I don’t _have_ to do anything!” you say quietly, anger in your voice, “And if and when I do decide to get over Dean, it won’t be with you!”

He looks like you’ve slapped him.

“I see,” he whispers.

You sigh and go over to take his hand, “I love you, Sam. I’ve always loved you, you know that. I just can’t do this to Dean. I can’t. Can you? If you honestly stop to think about what we’re doing here, could you do this to your brother? With no guilt? No remorse?”

“Y/N-” he tries to argue.

“No,” you say, “No more running, Sam. No more pretending nothing happened. No more not talking about him. I love him. I miss him. And you do too.”

He swallows and nods sadly, not saying anything.

“Let’s go back to bed,” you whisper, deciding that that’s probably enough for one day. You take his hand and lead him back to his bedroom. You allow him to wrap his arms around you and spoon you as you fall asleep.

The next day you wear one of Dean’s t-shirts.

* * *

 

It has been one year to the day since Dean disappeared.

You and Sam aren’t together, but all of your “friends” think that you are. You don’t hunt anymore. You don’t even read the paper or turn on the news. You don’t want to know what’s going on outside the little bubble that you and Sam have made for yourselves.

You’re not running. Not really. You don’t pretend it didn’t happen. You talk about him; about how much you miss him, about things he used to do, about memories you have of him that you and Sam share. You’ve almost accepted that he’s not coming back.

You lean back against Sam’s chest on the couch, pulling the popcorn bowl between the two of you so that he can reach, and press play on the DVD remote.

“Dean used to love this movie,” Sam chuckles into your hair, throwing a couple pieces of popcorn into his mouth. You’d gotten it out of his collection, actually. You’d unpacked his things a month or so ago. It didn’t hurt to look at anymore.

“I know,” you answer quietly, smiling to yourself as you remember the last time you’d watched it with him and how he’d quoted every line and watched you intently to make sure you were reacting properly to his favorite parts.

About half an hour into the movie, Sam starts fidgeting and looking like he wants to say something.

“Are you okay?” you ask, turning on the couch to face him and sitting up on your knees. He sighs and presses pause on the movie to give you his full attention.

“What are we doing, Y/N?” he asks seriously, eyes boring into yours.

“We’re… watching a movie,” you answer, confused.

“I mean, with us?” he asks, jaw clenched.

“Sam-” you sigh.

“I know. I know what we talked about. I _know_ , Y/N, it’s just… it’s been a year. A whole YEAR. Y/N, he’s not coming back,” he says.

“I know,” you whisper, not looking at him.

“I love you,” he says seriously.

“I know,” you repeat.

“You don’t think he’d want us to be happy?” he asks.

Your eyes snap up to his, “ **Don’t**. Don’t do that, Sam. You have no _idea_ what Dean would want,” you sigh, “Of course he’d want us to be happy, but that doesn’t mean-”

“Together?” he finishes for you, “Y/N, we’re family. He’d want us to stay together.”

“That doesn’t mean _together_ , together!” you protest.

“Who cares what it means, Y/N? You avoided being with Dean for months because of me, you can’t tell me that that means nothing. You can’t tell me that I mean nothing to you!” he stands, becoming angry.

“Of course it doesn’t mean nothing, Sam, you mean everything to me! But I chose Dean! I love Dean-”

“ **Dean’s dead!** ”

You slap him.

He stares at you in shock for a second before relaxing and looking away from you, “I’m sorry, Y/N,” he mumbles.

You chew your lip. Fretting, going over to him to take his hands and make him look at you. “I’m sorry, Sam, I didn’t mean to-”

“No, its fine, I deserved it,” he whispers.

You place a small kiss to his jaw, the only place you can reach without him coming down to meet you, “No, you didn’t,” you whisper, “You’re right. I can’t let him go, Sam. I don’t want to. I don’t know how. I miss him. But I don’t think he’d want us to be in pain over him forever. I don’t know if he’s…” you take a deep breath, “alive, or not. I know it’s not likely… but, Sam-”

“I know,” Sam says again, kissing your head, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said-”

You kiss him.

His arms wind around you and he holds you close to him, kissing you back passionately, “Y/N,” he breathes when you break away, “Can we just _pretend_ … pretend that you chose me? Just for right now?”

And, of course; you’d do anything for Sam.

He lifts you up and sits you on the kitchen counter when you start to kiss him again. He groans appreciatively when your hands slip under his shirt to trail over his abdomen. After a minute, he just slips it off, nudging you to lift your arms so that he can slip yours off as well. You comply, pressing yourself against his warm body when you find yourself topless. You spread your legs so that Sam can nestle in between your thighs, pressing himself close to you as the two of you kiss hungrily, needy. You feel momentarily guilty at how turned on you are, but it _had_ been over a year, and it wasn’t as if Sam was any kind of unattractive. Plus there was all the history between the two of you. It was hard to stop.

He’s big, and warm, and his mouth is soft but his kisses are rough, and his fingers dig into your hips as he starts to buck between your thighs, trying to get friction on his jean covered erection.

“Off,” you mumble against his lips, tugging at the waistband of his jeans, and he pulls away for a minute to follow your orders. You hop off of the counter to pull your jeans off as well, and squeal in surprise as he scoops you up in his arms. You cling to him koala-style as he carries you, shoving your back up against the wall and pinning you there, mouth attaching to your neck as he rut his hips against yours. Your fingers dig into his shoulders as he sucks a dark purple mark into your neck, cock hitting against your cloth covered clit every time he slams his hips into you.

“Sam,” you gasp.

“I wanna fuck you, Y/N,” he groans low and husky in your ear, teeth nipping gently at your earlobe, breath coming in short, shallow gasps, “Is that okay?”

“God, yes!” you moan as his fingers dip beneath the waistband of your panties to tease your clit. He backs up so that he can pull your panties down your legs and off, and shoves his boxers down, kicking them off as well. He pushes you back up against the wall, holding his cock in one hand and your hips with the other.

“Are you sure?” he asks more softly, worry in his eyes as he hesitates.

You bite your lip, “Yeah, Sam, I’m sure. Please.”

He lets out a shaky breath as he enters you, sliding in slowly, until his hips are flush with yours. He pauses for a minute, his forehead leaning against your shoulder. You rock your hips impatiently.

He chuckles, “Okay, okay.”

He moves slowly at first, and then the pace starts to pick up as the both of you become more frantic, more desperate for your release. His hips slam into yours repeatedly as you tighten your legs around his waist to pull him impossibly closer to you.

“Sam!” you gasp, “Sam! Sam!””

“I love it,” he moans, “when you say my name.”

“Sam!” you moan in his ear, kissing the flesh below it and down his throat, one hand tangled in his hair, the other gripping his hip as he slams repeatedly into you. You shift against the wall, angling your hips so that he can go deeper, hitting your g-spot every time.

He groans as you tighten around him, hips stuttering in their rhythm, “Y/N, I-”

“I know, Sammy,” you pant, “me too.” You buck your hips up to meet him thrust for thrust, hand tightening in his hair, and you moan as you come. He stills, fingers leaving bruises on your hips as he follows suit.

He lets out a quiet groan and helps you down to your feet, pulling out of you and picking you up again bridal-style to carry you to his bed. He tucks you in under the covers before crawling in next to you and pressing himself to your back, leaving soft kisses in your hair and entwining your fingers together.

“Mine,” he breathes quietly in your ear as he lets his eyes fall closed.

“Yours,” you whisper, “For tonight.”

The movie sits forgotten on the TV.


	3. Our Thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've almost accepted the fact that Dean is gone and he's not coming back, when he shows up unexpectedly on your doorstep and you have an energetic reunion. He's a little pissed that the two of you haven't been hunting, but Sam tells him how he really feels about it. You're just happy to have your little family back together.

One year and three days since Dean had disappeared.

Sam’s at work and you’re cleaning the apartment, listening to one of Dean’s tapes.

You hadn’t talked about what had happened that night with Sam. You’d just gone back to normal the next morning- whatever normal was for you. He didn’t try anything again.

You sigh as you load the washing machine. Maybe Sam was right about moving on. You were clinging already to the last shred of hope that you had that Dean might still be alive somewhere, somehow. Maybe it was time to let him go. Maybe things could be okay… with Sam. You’d made a life here with him, albeit a somewhat mundane one, not one you’d ever dreamed for yourself, but then again at least you weren’t hunting anymore.

You bite your lip. You should feel grateful that you’d gotten out, but you don’t. You feel guilty. Sure, there are other hunters- better hunters than you- but it feels wrong somehow to know what’s out there and not be helping to stop it. You suppose you should just be thankful nothing had come after you and Sam yet.

There’s a loud banging at the door that breaks you out of your thoughts and makes you jump.

You look down at yourself; you’re wearing one of Dean’s old t-shirts and a ratty pair of sweatpants. Your hair is up in a messy bun, and you haven’t showered yet. You sigh, and go to answer the door anyway when the banging persists.

You don’t even get a second to register the face on the other side of the door before you’re hit in the face with holy water.

“Oh, good, so you’re not a demon!” he growls, barging in and throwing a fistful of salt at you, “Or, a ghost!” he grasps your hand and slices the flesh of your arm gently with the blade of his silver knife, “Or a shifter, or pretty much anything else! So let me ask you- where the hell have you been?” he snaps.

You rub your arm, looking up at him in shock. Your eyes meet his deep green ones that are looking at you with a mix of anger and relief. “Dean!” you breathe shakily, unwilling to believe you’re awake. You throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him, breathing him in, inhaling the scent of his skin, feeling him under your fingertips, under your lips.

He stays still under your assault. “You should make sure I’m not a shifter or something, Y/N,” he says gruffly, cutting his own arm with his knife and splashing himself with salt and holy water.

“Dean, stop, I know you’re you. Of course, I do! I’d know you anywhere, Dean! Dean! How-” you babble, tears welling up in your eyes as he finally softens and wraps his arms around you, smiling and pressing soft kisses to your mouth. You sigh every time his lips meet yours, tears pouring down your cheeks.

“Y/N, stop crying,” he says gently, hands rubbing over your shoulders, “I’m here now, I’m okay.”

“How?” you repeat, “How are you here? Where were you?”

“Purgatory,” he grunts, “But I’m back now, that’s what matters. Where’s Sam?”

“Sam?” it doesn’t register for a second, “Oh, Sam’s at work.”

“Work?” he laughs.

You nod, “At the motel.”

“So… what? You two like… **live** here?” he asks incredulously.

You nod again.

“You didn’t look for me?” he asks quietly, voice dangerously low.

“I did, too!” you protest angrily, “I looked everywhere! All I did was hit dead ends! Dean, we thought you were dead! Like, for good this time.”

His eyes are on your neck and the fading purple bruise that’s still there from your night with Sam three days ago, “So you two decide to shack up here and pretend I never existed?” he growls angrily, the hurt deep in his eyes.

“No!” you cry, “Dean, you’ve been gone for a year! I didn’t- I mean, we never… it just happened last week-”

He sighs and his shoulders slump, “You’re right. It’s been a year. I guess I didn’t expect you to be celibate. And I know that you and Sam-”

“Dean, **stop** ,” you tangle your fingers with his, “Please. Let me enjoy this. You’re _here_. You’re back! I feel like I’m dreaming.”

He smirks and pulls you close to him again, “You dream about me often, sweetheart?”

“Every night,” you admit, “Every night, Dean, and it was hell when I woke up and you weren’t there.”

“But Sam was,” he says gently.

“Yeah,” you nod, “Sam was. And that was comforting, and I love Sam, but I wanted it to be you, Dean. I chose you. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” he kisses you deeply, “God, Y/N, I missed you. I thought I was never gonna see you again.”

“Me too,” you whisper, “Dean, I am never letting you go again.”

“I’m not going anywhere, baby,” he says, hands clutching your waist and holding you close to him as he buries his face in your neck and sighs, kissing you there.

“Dean,” you moan.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he whispers in your ear, breath hot and shaky as his fingers grip the hem of the shirt that you’re wearing and pull it up, “I want it back.”

You let him take the shirt off of you and grab his hand, guiding him to the couch where you fall back against the cushions, back resting against the armrest as Dean pulls his own shirt off and crawls over you. He kneels between your thighs, looming over you, like a vision out of one of your dreams. You run your hands slowly over his torso, taking stock of him, remembering him, noticing new scars and kissing them gently.

He groans low in his throat and pulls you up so you’re face-to-face with him, his lips capturing yours in a slow, loving, gentle kiss. You wrap your arms around him, one hand in his hair and one gripping his bicep. His hands are bracing himself on the armrest as he hovers over you. He moves one hand to slip your sweats and underwear down and off, and he moans aloud at the sight when you’re completely naked in front of him.

“God, baby, I have missed you,” he says huskily.

You whimper in response, pushing at his jeans. He gets the hint and takes them off. He kisses a trail from your neck, down your shoulder blade, your collar bone, over one breast, licking at your nipple and making you gasp, down over your torso, your hip bones, your thigh. He licks and nips at your inner thigh, tasting all of you, breathing you in, taking in everything he had missed for so long.

“Dean,” you whine, pushing your hips up into his face.

He chuckles, “Patience, baby.”

He ghosts his tongue, too gently, too slowly, over your slit, starting at the bottom and dragging the tip of his tongue up so very slowly until rests against your clit, only for a millisecond before he moves away and starts again with just slightly more pressure. It drives you crazy.

“Dean!” you groan, and he has to hold your hips down so that he can continue his teasing, tongue flicking back and forth quickly against your clit a couple of times before he took it away again. You whimper and try to move under his restraint.

He runs the whole flat of his tongue up you this time, putting a solid amount of pressure, the tip of his tongue darting inside your entrance a couple of times before moving up to just before your clit, before he removes his mouth from you, “God, baby, I forgot how good you taste. I could do this forever.”

You moan, high and loud, trying desperately to break free from his grip and push your hips up to his mouth, your finger clawing at the couch cushions. He teases you with the tip of his tongue one more time, green eyes fixed onto your face as he watches your reaction, then finally, he smirks, and goes to town. He gives you what you need, his tongue working ceaselessly over your clit, fast and hard, and you moan, you scream, you squeeze your thighs together around his head. He sucks your clit into his mouth for a second before leaving it alone again, moving down to tongue at your entrance for a few seconds before coming back up, flicking his tongue in circles around your clit and then taking it between his teeth gently. You scream and your whole body convulses as you climax. His eyes stay fixed on your face, a deep moan escaping his lips as he watched you come.

“Y/N,” he groans, “You are so hot. Do you know how hot you are? Do you know how badly I want to fuck you?”

“Please!” you moan, reaching up for him, “Please, Dean!”

He crawls up your body, placing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses on your thigh, your belly, your breast, before finally reaching your mouth and taking your bottom lip between his teeth, a groan/growl muffled in his throat as he releases it and kisses you deep and rough.

“Dean!” you moan, lifting your legs to wrap around his waist and pull him down to you. He chuckles at your eagerness and places a gentle nip to your neck before taking his cock in one hand and lining it up.

“Ready?” he asks softly.

“God, yes,” you groan, bucking your hips up impatiently. His deep green eyes, darkened with lust, never leave yours as he slides into you, slowly, savouring the feeling of being slowly engulfed by your tight, wet heat. He groans low in his throat in a way that makes you shiver and he bites his lip in satisfaction, his tongue darting out to run over it. The faces he makes are sinful.

“God, Dean!” you groan, overwhelmed by him; seeing him, feeling him inside of you and all around you, hearing his voice. You thought you’d never get the chance again.

“You… feel…so good… baby,” he grunts as he rocks his hips slowly, sliding gently in and out of you, never sliding out all of the way before he rocks back into you again.

You claw at his shoulders, kiss and bite at his neck, breath coming hot and heavy, “Dean, please,” you groan.

He laughs, but it comes out as more of a moan, his breath hard and fast as his eyes lock onto yours, “I’m taking this slow, baby. It’s been way too long. I’m gonna enjoy this.”

You nod in agreement with that, but still your hips buck up in protest, causing his cock to slam into you harder until he’s flush all the way and you both let out a loud, guttural moan and he tips his head back in pleasure, eyes slipping closed and mouth falling open in the glorious ‘O’ shape that makes you want to capture his lips in a hot steamy kiss and never let him go.

“God, Y/N!” he chokes out as he brings his eyes back to yours, a smirk playing over his lips as he pulls back and snaps his hips back up into your in one quick motion.

“Dean!” you gasp, biting down on your lip to keep from screaming. He waits for a minute, just until you’re squirming again, then he smirks, gets that mischievous glint in his green eyes, and repeats the motion- harder this time. This time you do scream. He laughs, low and rough, licking his lips at the sight of you coming undone underneath him, “I don’t think I can keep this up much longer, baby,” he grunts, slamming his hips back into yours again.

“Then don’t!” you gasp, nails digging into his shoulders, leaving marks.

He obeys, picking up the pace to almost unbearable, slamming his hips repeatedly against yours every millisecond until finally, he stills, his cock deep inside of you, and he groans long and low in his throat as his head falls to your shoulder and he shakes. Both of you panting, you come down from your orgasm and lay there for just a few minutes. He places gentle, soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, hands roaming your body, gently touching and caressing your skin with his rough fingertips When he finally pulls out and away you whine at the loss, reaching out for him to come back. He scoops you up with his arm under your knees and the other supporting your shoulders, chuckling, “Come on, babe, I think we need a shower. Point me to your bathroom.”

You point and he carries you over, kicking the door open and placing you down to sit on the closed toilet seat, reaching over to turn on the hot water. You watch him admiringly, eyes sweeping over the back of his head, broad shoulders, strong back, the curve of his ass, down his bent legs, all the way to his toes. You feel a rush of love, and adoration, and relief- _such_ relief- at finally having him here in front of you again.

You sigh and walk over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind and pressing your face up against his warm back. A few tears slip from beneath your eyelids and fall onto his skin. You feel him freeze and relax under your hold.

“Babe?” he asks quietly, and you can practically hear the small smile he’s giving you.

“I missed you so much, Dean,” you whisper, “I thought I’d never see you again. I thought you were dead. I was… I was ready to-” you stop, taking a deep shuddering breath.

He turns in your arms and gently caresses your face with one hand, thumb swiping soothingly across your lips, “Ready to what?” he asks softly, concern in his eyes.

You look up at him, meeting his green eyes with yours and letting another few tears drip down your face as the guilt bubbles in your chest, “I was ready to move on,” you whisper, “I was going to-” your eyes widen as you realize exactly what it was you had been thinking of doing, “I was going to move on with Sam.”

He closes his eyes for a second and lets a breath out slowly through his nose, tongue swiping over his lips to moisten them before he speaks, “It’s okay, Y/N,” he says.

“No, it’s not!” you argue, “No, it’s not! Not after everything that happened between us. I should have waited! I should have kept _looking_!” you start to panic.

“Y/N, stop. Stop,” he holds your hands, and steps backwards into the shower, pulling you with him under the hot spray of water, he wraps his arms around you and holds you close to his chest, “I don’t blame you. You tried. You did everything you could. I was gone for a whole year. Am I ticked that it’s my brother that you shacked up with after everything that happened? A little- call me jealous, but I’ll get over that. I get that you needed him, and I’m sure he needed you , too. Honestly, I’m glad you stayed together. Y/N, I’m not angry with you for doing what you needed to to get by, my jealousy about it be damned.”

You reach up and kiss him, reveling in the feeling of his mouth against yours, his strong arms wrapped tightly around you, “Dean, I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“I’m sorry, too, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, “I tried my hardest to get back to you. I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You look up at him, curious, “How did you get back?” you ask.

He doesn’t look at you, “Human’s aren’t supposed to be in Purgatory. There’s a… a portal. Took me forever to find it, though.”

“And Castiel?” you ask, not wanting to hear the answer.

He gives his head one barely noticeable shake, jaw clenched, “He didn’t make it.”

You bite your lip, a few more tears falling down your cheeks, “I’ll miss him,” you say quietly.

“Yeah, me too,” he answers, closing his eyes, “That _damn_ Angel. I could’ve saved him. I should have saved him.”

You reach up to cup his jaw in your hand, pressing your lips to his shoulder, “I’m sure you did everything you could, Dean. I know you. It wasn’t your fault that you couldn’t get Cas out.”

He lets out a shaky breath and changes the subject quickly, “When does Sam get home?”

“At five,” you answer, “I’ve gotta get dinner started actually.”

He chuckles, “You’ve been _cooking_ for him? Okay, now I’m really jealous.”

You smile, “Well… tonight I’ll have to make pie.”

“Damn, baby, have I ever missed you!”

* * *

 

Sam gets the same greeting you did almost the moment he walks through the door.

“Dean, he’s not a shifter! Or a demon! Will you put that away?” you protest, but there’s a smile on your lips as you take in your boys- together again.

“Dean?” Sam shouts in shock, freezing for a minute before pulling his brother into a bone crushing hug.

“Good to see you too, Sammy,” Dean laughs, hugging his brother back for a minute before they broke apart.

“Where were you? How are you here?” Sam asks.

You let Dean catch him up while you pull the pie out of the oven and set it on the counter next to the entrée. You lean against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking back and forth between Sam and Dean, the happiness at seeing them both in one place again becoming overshadowed by anxiety at how you feel about both of them.

It was Dean. Of course it was Dean, it was always Dean. It was always going to be Dean. But… what about Sam? What was going to happen now that Dean was back in the picture? Would he go back to silently pining, playing the hero and letting his beloved brother have the girl of his dreams, constantly in pain? Or would he move on and find some other girl who could make him happier than you ever could? And how would you feel about it if he did? And what did that mean for you and Dean?

“Right, Y/N?” Sam asks, looking up at you with expectant eyes and you realize that the conversation has shifted from Dean’s story to Sam recapping your last year together.

“What? Sorry? I wasn’t listening,” you admit.

“I said it’s been nice to be out of the life,” he repeats.

“Oh, yeah,” you say, “Well, Sam got out before I did. I guess it’s been nice to have a little break, but honestly I’ve been itching to get back to it.”

“Really?” Sam frowns, “You never said anything.”

“You were adamant, Sam! If I brought up anything about hunting, or looking for Dean, for the longest time you’d just shut me out-”

“Wait, wait,” Dean stops you, raising one eyebrow at his brother, “Looking for Dean?” he repeats, “You weren’t looking for me?”

Sam looks guilty, “Well… no, Dean. I thought you were dead.”

“Because that’s stopped you before?” Dean yells angrily.

“We promised each other we wouldn’t sacrifice ourselves for each other anymore, Dean. I was keeping my promise!” Sam argued hotly.

“But you didn’t even look?” Dean stands up in anger, “And you gave up hunting? People are dying out there, Sam, doesn’t that matter to you? Don’t you care about that?”

“Of course I care, Dean!” Sam stands up to tower over his brother, “There are other hunters out there! Hunting was-” he stops.

“Hunting was what?” Dean asks, scowling up at his brother.

“Hunting was kind of our thing.” Sam mumbles, embarrassment colouring his cheeks, “I only started hunting again when you picked me up from Stanford, and I- well, I just can’t imagine being able to do it without you.”

“That’s a lame ass excuse,” Dean bites out, but he’s not looking at Sam anymore and his voice is quiet.

“Well,” Sam shrugs, turning away from his brother as well, “It is what it is.”

They stand there uncomfortably for a few minutes. You shake your head at them, “Boys,” you sigh incredulously. You clear your throat, getting their attention back, “If you two are done being dramatic- dinner’s ready.”


	4. Choose

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam feels guilty about not looking for his brother while he was gone and worries that it was his life with you that stopped him from wanting to find his brother. You confront the aftermath of your life together now that Dean is back in the picture.

The three of you fall back into the regular swing of things pretty easily. You pay the last month’s rent on your and Sam’s apartment, and you pack what little belongings you have back up into the trunk of the Impala. You’re off to see Kevin, who has been evading Crowley’s demons for the better part of the year that you and Sam had taken off while Dean was AWOL.

From the backseat of the Impala, you stare up at your boys in the front seat. Dean’s going on about how you should’ve been hunting and how could Sam leave Kevin alone like that? Sam is listening, arguments forming on his lips only to get shot down by Dean before they can even leave his mouth. His brow is furrowed the way it gets when he’s frustrated, or deep in thought, and he’s looking intently at his brother while he talks. On the surface he seems upset or irritated at the scolding he’s getting, but you can see it in his eyes- the relief, the joy at having his brother here _to_ scold him again.

He feels your eyes on him and his eyes flicker back to look at you. You catch his gaze for a moment and he gives you _that_ look- the one you’ve been waiting for ever since Dean got home- he looked heartbroken.

“Pretend you chose me,” you hear his voice echoing in your head. His voice had been so broken, he’d been so desperate, and you’d been so willing to give him anything that would take that pain away- that would make him stop looking at you like that.

“Mine,” you remember his sigh against your cheek, his arms around you, and the steady beat of his heart against your back as he pressed up against you.

“For tonight,” you’d agreed, and that’s what you gave him, but was that enough for Sam? Could he let that go now that Dean was back?

“Hello? Earth to Sam! Where’d you go?” Dean says, snapping the two of you out of your moment- your silent communication.

“Nowhere,” Sam says, “I heard you, Dean.”

“Well… good,” Dean says, obviously not buying what Sam was saying and checking in the mirror that you were okay, too. He turns up the music, clearly done his rant and not knowing what to say about the tension between you and Sam.

The car is silent for hours save for what’s playing on the stereo. Dean pulls into a gas station on the side of the highway when you get into a dingy little town that’s on the way.

“Want anything?” he asks you both.

Sam shakes his head and you ask him to buy you something to drink, and Dean goes inside to pay.

“I didn’t pretend, Sam,” you whisper after a few minutes of silence.

He closes his eyes and groans, rubbing at his forehead with the palm of his hand as if he has a headache, “Don’t, Y/N.”

“I just-”

“Does it make a difference?” he asks angrily, “Does anything make a difference?”

You bite your lip and give your head a small, sad shake.

“I didn’t think so,” he sighs in defeat.

“I just wanted you to know,” you say quietly.

“Why? So that there’s one more thing I can sit here and think about while you’re with Dean?” he asks, “It doesn’t matter how I feel, Y/N. It doesn’t even matter how YOU feel about me, because what you feel for him is always gonna be stronger. You made your choice, Y/N. I shouldn’t have pushed you into anything while Dean was gone.”

“You didn’t know he was coming back, neither did I!” you protest.

“Doesn’t matter,” he says, “Even if Dean hadn’t come back and we’d been together- really together- you could never love me like you love him. It would have been pretend.”

“Sam-” you start.

“I don’t want to hear your excuses, Y/N!” he snaps, “I don’t want to hear that it was real, or that things could have been okay, or what would have been, okay? I’m glad Dean’s back, I am beyond glad! I don’t want to think that I could only have one or the other. I don’t want you if I only get you when my brother is dead! As if I have to **choose**!”

“You don’t have to choose, Sam, we’re both here,” you say, confused.

“And you’re with Dean,” he points out, “as if nothing ever happened between us. It’s like some cruel cosmic joke. I finally had what I wanted with you, but my brother had to be dead to get it. We had a life, Y/N, a real one! You can’t tell me that it wasn’t nice. But now… I don’t know whether to feel relief that I got my brother back, or grief that I lost you again,” he sighs, “I’m scared to know what I would choose,” he whispers.

“You’d choose Dean,” you say matter-of-factly, no hesitation.

“Would I?” he asks, pain evident on his face.

“No doubt about it, Sam,” you assure him, “You always do.”

He shakes his head, “I didn’t this time. I didn’t even look. I didn’t even try. I was so eager to throw in the towel.”

“You were in pain,” you defend.

“I didn’t _want_ to find him!” he shouts, shock crossing his features as he realizes what he said.

“I don’t believe that for a second, Sam Winchester!” you bite out, getting out of the car.

He follows you, “What are you doing?”

“You wanna know who you’d choose? Go on! Choose!” you shout, “Me or Dean?”

“What?”

“Choose! **Choose** , Sam! Dean goes, or I go! Who do you choose?”

“I- what? Y/N, don’t-”

“CHOOSE, SAM!”

“DEAN! I choose Dean, okay!?” he screams at you.

You relax and nod,“I know you do.”

Dean stands in the door of the gas station, clutching his purchases to his chest and looking between the two of you like a deer caught in headlights, “What is happening here?”

“Nothing,” you say quietly, opening the door to the backseat and crawling back in without a word.

“Sam?” Dean asks, hoping to get some clarification from his brother.

Sam just shakes his head, “No, it’s nothing, Dean.”

They get back in the car and the awkward silence resumes as you speed off down the highway. About ten minutes later, it’s all Dean can take. He shuts off the music and looks pointedly between you and Sam as he drives. “Okay, enough. What’s going on?” he asks.

“Dean-” you start, shaking your head.

“Don’t. Don’t try to spare my feelings, Y/N, I was gone for a whole year. I know you two have shit between you that I wasn’t here for. If we’re gonna make this thing work I gotta know everything. Doesn’t mean I’ll like it, but… I’ll give you two a free pass this time,” he sighs, “Come on, Y/N… Sammy, if I don’t know what’s going on I don’t know how to deal with it.”

Sam sighs, clearly uncomfortable, and looks out the window to avoid his brother’s gaze, “It doesn’t matter, Dean. She chose you. Again.”

“So did you!” you cut in, “Just now.”

“Yeah, well, he’s my brother, Y/N!” he argues as if that negates his choice.

“Exactly!” you exclaim, “He’s your brother. And when it comes down to it, you two would choose each other every time! I’m not even a factor, Sam! I’m sure if you told Dean to- he’d drop me in a second for you.”

Dean looks like he’s going to argue but Sam speaks first, “I’d never ask him to do that. He loves you.”

“I know you wouldn’t, Sam. Because no matter what you feel for me- you love your brother more,” you tell him, “You boys are too stubborn to say it often, but you know it’s true. Whatever we have… whatever’s between me and Dean, neither of those things hold a candle to what you two would do for each other. You’re family. And honestly, I’m a little jealous,” you smile.

“Y/N-” Dean starts.

You shake your head, “I’m joking, Dean. It’s one of the things I love most about you boys- how much you care about each other. So you got a little blind sighted this time, Sam, Dean’s here now. You don’t have to feel guilty for what you did to survive without him.”

“I should’ve moved on from you,” Sam whispers, eyes catching yours, “I should’ve known-”

“No,” Dean says gruffly, “You couldn’t have known, Sam. And if you’d left her alone and unprotected while I was gone, I never would have forgiven you for it.”

You’re about to cut in and tell him you can take care of yourself, but you bite your tongue. This might be going somewhere good, and honestly if they can repair this by themselves it would be for the best.

“I know,” Sam smiles a little.

“So… thank you. I guess,” Dean says awkwardly, “for looking out for her.”

“Anytime, Dean,” Sam answers quietly.

You sigh in contentment. You know it’s nowhere near fixed, but at least now Sam didn’t have to feel guilty. He knows that Dean comes first… for both of you. You weren’t sure things between you and Sam would be that easy to solve, but one thing at a time. For now, you were just happy you had both of them back. You were just happy your little family was back together again


	5. Yes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the conclusion of Part 2 of Anything for Sam, you've made your decision and even though it may take some time for Sam to come to terms with it, Dean wants to make sure he never loses you again.

About a week later, after the events of the supernatural auction and after Kevin and his mother had fled, the three of you were in a motel room “enjoying” some down time and keeping your eyes on the news for suspicious activity. You hadn’t really had a moment alone with Dean since the day he’d gotten home, so you were snuggled up to him now on a dirty couch in front of a tiny TV while Sam was out on a food run. You had eyes only for him- but his were deep in Sam’s computer screen, searching for something, anything, that could mean demons.

“Dean,” you complain, “Can you put that down for 5 seconds?”

“Y/N-” he starts.

“I know it’s important, Dean, and I agree, but you need to take a break! You can’t work 24/7, you’re only human,” you tell him.

He snorts, but puts the laptop down on the coffee table and turns slightly to give you his full attention. “Better?” he asks, raising one eyebrow at you before pressing his lips softly to yours for a moment.

“Infinitely,” you sigh contentedly against his mouth.

“Y/N, the demon tablet-” he starts again, getting serious.

“Dean!” you groan, shaking your head, “Please, we haven’t had a moment alone together since you’ve gotten back. Sam is out. Can we take advantage of that please?”

He chuckles, “Yeah, alright,” he murmurs as he brings his lips back to yours for soft, tantalizingly slow, drawn out kisses.

You moan softly in appreciation of his glorious kissing skills and push yourself up, closer to him, for better access to his mouth.

“Y/N,” he whispers against your mouth, hands curled around your hips as he pulls you in closer to him, “I love you, so damn much.”

“I love you, too, Dean,” you smile.

“I thought about you every single day,” he continues, lips trailing over your skin, across your cheek, your jawline, down your neck, “You were the only thought- the only thing that kept me fighting.”

“Yeah?” you breathe, unable to fully concentrate on his words with the way his lips feel on your skin, the way his hands are holding you, the way he’s so warm and rough and smells so damn good.

“We should get married,” he murmurs against your breast.

**That** you heard.

“What?” you ask in shock, pulling his face away from your skin to look in his eyes, despite his protests, “What did you just say?”

“Marry me,” he breathes, looking 100% serious and honestly scaring you a little, “Marry me, Y/N, I love you.”

“I- I love you, too, Dean, but- _now_? In the middle of everything?” you ask, desperately wishing your mouth would just say yes, but panicking a little.

“We might not get another chance, Y/N! Please, I… I wanna do this. I wanna be able to say you’re my wife. I want-” he stops and takes a breath, collecting himself in his haste, “I want you, Y/N. Only you. For as long as we live, which admittedly might not being that long. Come on, baby, say yes. Say you’ll marry me.”

There’s a lump caught in your throat, and a thousand ‘yeses’ bubbling under it, trapped, desperate to get out. But instead you just stare at him, wide-eyed, with your breath caught in your throat.

“Y/N-” he starts, a look of concern and hurt crossing his face.

“Yes!” you choke out immediately, a wide smile growing on your face as you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him back down to your lips to kiss him passionately, “Yes! Yes! Yes, Dean! Yes!” you gasp against his lips, “ _Hell yes_!”

He laughs, half crazed with relief, and kisses you frantically, smiling against your lips, “Damn baby,” he chuckles, “And I don’t even have a ring!”

Sam gets back about ten minutes later. Ten minutes that you had spent, half celebrating, half worrying about how you were gonna break the news to Sam. His wounds were too fresh, not yet healed, and you don’t want to give him any reason to leave again.

“What do you two look so happy about?” he asks, smiling as he walks in and starts dishing up the take out, “Or do I want to know?”

You bite your lip, thinking that, no, he probably doesn’t want to know. But you can’t stop Dean from excitedly going over to clap his brother on the shoulder and say, “I’m getting married, dude! _Married!_ ”

Sam’s eyes flicker over you for a moment and you can’t read them fast enough before he turns them on Dean, smiles wide, and says, “Congrats man! That’s huge!”

You sigh in relief, though you know the sentiment is real, the emotion is most likely feigned, and you’re just glad there was no outburst that would put you all back to square one.

He smiles tenderly at you as he hands you your food, “Congratulations, Y/N, really. I’m happy for you,” he sits down at the table and grins, “So where’d you find the spell for that? I mean- you **must** be a pretty powerful witch if you got my brother to settle down!”

You laugh- a real laugh that fills you up and breaks through your stress and worry, if only for a moment.

“Hey!” Dean protests, but he’s smiling and he knows he can’t really argue.

You study Sam for a while as the three of you talk, and laugh, and eat, and you are relieved that you can’t find a hint of insincerity in his eyes at his happiness for you and his brother. You know Sam is selfless, but just how selfless he’s being now really touches your heart. Maybe marrying Dean would finally put all of this awkward, unresolved tension behind you, and everything would be okay again. You could truly focus on Crowley and the demon tablet, and saving the damn world.

“Y/N Winchester,” you try out, and smile.

Dean’s grinning like a madman when he hears the name come out of your mouth.

“Mrs. Y/N Winchester,” you say again, and giggle when he kisses you.

“I like the sound of that,” he says.

“Me too,” you agree.

Sam gets up to leave the room. He smiles, and says he’s just going to the bathroom, but when he goes to shut the door behind him, you see his hands shake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying Anything For Sam so far! The 3rd and Final Part is coming soon!


End file.
